


Pile Of Puppies: OT5 Drabbles

by StormDancer



Series: One Direction Drabbles [7]
Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 08:45:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7567696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormDancer/pseuds/StormDancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of my OT5 drabbles, AU ideas, and other snippets, originally posted on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collection of all the OT5 drabbles I've written on Tumblr. Some of them will be long, some short; some won't even be proper drabbles at all, just summaries of what I would write. Mostly unbetaed, so there very well could be some typos, sorry. 
> 
> Enjoy!

**_a bit of last 1d concert sappy zayn-centric ot5-ness_ **

Zayn keeps his head ducked, as he eases his way into the arena. He probably looks pretty sketchy, with his hood pulled low over his face, but he also feels a bit like a superhero, so he’ll kind of take it. And he’s fairly sure no security guard’s going to kick him out.

He’s less worried about that than his own safety, in all honesty. It makes him huddle in his seat, try to look as inconspicuous as possible. It’s not like anyone’s going to look from him here, in the audience—it’s the stupidest fucking idea in the world, to quote everyone he’d asked about it, so maybe that’ll help. Even he knows it’s stupid. Stupid on so many levels, because he hasn’t even really talked to the boys for months, no more than perfunctory sort of things—but he had to be here, today. It’s what he’d told Sarah, when he’d asked her just how bad it would be if he was seen here, in the most articulate way he could express the simple truth he knew. They’re his boys. He’d started it with them, he wants to end it with them, sort of at least.

She’d sighed, but in the end she’d told him it wouldn’t be the worst thing, might be seen as sweet, and she’d get him the tickets. He loves her, sometimes, the way she listens to these things.

So now he’s here, in the seats at the last One Direction concert. Or maybe not—he’s heard what they’ve had to say, it’s just a break and all, but he’s tasted freedom and he knows his boys. He’s not sure how much they’ll want to go back. It doesn’t even matter, really. It feels like the last show; he can feel it in the crowd, in all the signs.

The opening act is pretty good, familiar enough. It lets him settle, get his bearings. He knows what’s happening backstage, how the boys are in their huddle, their hands together. But he’s never been out here, heard the rumbling, the excitement rising. It’s sort of cool, really.  

“Do you think Zayn’ll be here,” the girl next to him asks her friend, who laughs. “No, come on, how cool would that be! Like, for an encore or something.”

“He would never do that, ever. They’d never do that,” she’s told, firmly. Zayn hides his smirk, because having a secret identity is kind of cool. “I don’t think it’s even, like, legally allowed.”

“It could be!” is the rejoinder, and Zayn shakes his head. He’s not sure it is, honestly, and even if it were, he wouldn’t. They wouldn’t. He knows that. It’s not what he is anymore, it’s not what he wants to be.

Except he’s here. Not out of regret, he thinks, he really isn’t this person anymore. But out of…nostalgia’s wrong too. He just needs to be here. Here with his boys, at the end like he’d been at the beginning.

A hush falls over the crowd, and he knows what it means. They’ve changed the video, though Zayn recognizes some of the shots from times he was there, but the screams are deafening from down here, nearly overwhelming. It’s all overwhelming, in a different way than it had been hearing it from backstage.

The screaming rises, crescendos—then they’re there.

He’s not first row, he’s a few rows back, but—but it’s the closest he’s been to any of them since March, and he’s never seen them from this perspective. It’s different, watching them jog onto the stage, when he knows what’s in their heads, knows when Liam opens his eyes, could almost mouth along with what Louis mutters into Niall’s ear to make him laugh.

They look good. It’s the first thing that he thinks, as they launch into their first song. They look food. There aren’t holes, no places left for him. He’s glad, he never meant to left unfillable holes. Never meant to hurt them, really, though he’d known he would. But they move seamlessly around the stage, and maybe the songs sound different—he doesn’t think he’s vain in saying his voice added something—but it’s good.

It’s a good show. The girls on all sides of him are screaming, singing along, and Zayn clenches his mouth shut, because it’s instinct sometimes, when to sing. His fists curl into balls when he feels himself inhale. This isn’t his anymore, but it was once, and he’s so proud of his boys, he finds. So proud of how they’re filling up that stage.

They’re fun to watch. Zayn’s a little more than on edge, sometimes, because Harry’s climbing all over shit and someone needs to keep and eye on him and Louis and Liam’s water fight is really near Niall and they’re all going to fall in those puddles, but it’s fun. Fun, and makes his heart ache. He doesn’t miss it, not really—he knows he’ll be up on stage again soon enough, singing the songs that are from his heart, but he does—Louis leans into Liam’s side to mutter something, and Liam laughs and says something back that makes Louis’s head tip back and punch at him before running away; Harry drapes himself over Niall as Niall attempts to play the guitar. He misses that. He misses his boys, and he knows it’s all of their faults, but… it’s just weird. Being here. Being apart.

It’s easier during the new songs, the ones where he isn’t fighting four years of instincts on. But then they gather up, and opening notes he doesn’t recognize goes on, but there’s a gasp next to him.

“This one’s going to hurt,” the girl mutters, and sure enough, it does.

Zayn’s heard it, obviously. He doesn’t have it memorized or anything, but he’s heard Infinity, all its wistful lyrics and the ache of it. He knows how the boys write, knows it came after Eleanor, so it’s not like he’s vain enough to think it’s about him or anything, but, well. He knows the internet says it is. And he can see their faces, see the ache there, and he tilts his head up before he thinks about it, searching for…something. He doesn’t know what. He just wants to be able to do something. To be a part of that ache, at least.

He doesn’t push his hood back, even; doesn’t do anything that would give him away. But Louis turns as he goes to throw an arm around Niall’s shoulder, and Zayn almost thinks he pauses in Zayn’s direction, a stutter in his step.

But then it’s gone, and he’s next to Niall, the four of them on that stage singing about wanting to be enough. When they start the next song, Zayn’s surprised to find that he’s bitten his lip hard enough it aches.

The rest of the concert is more of the same, loud and raucous with people screaming and throwing things. When Liam comes over to this side to point out signs, he ducks his head again, just in case, and he thinks it must work because no one says anything, anyway.

He can tell it’s wearing on the boys, that they’re thinking about how it’s the last. He wonders what that feels like, honestly. He’d never gotten to play a last One Direction concert, never known that was what it was. There’s a part of him that wishes he had, that everything had gone off like it was supposed to, where he would know his last performance, even though most of him—all of him, really—knows this ended up for the best. But still, what must it feel like, up there? Knowing it’s going to end? Looking out and knowing that this is the last time, maybe forever?

That’s what he wishes he was up there for, he thinks. To be there with them, against that looming dark. To tell them it’s okay, it’ll be okay. It’ll all turn out all right.

Before too long, it’s over, and everyone knows it. The last notes peter out, and then it’s the four of them on stage, they’re arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders, close as they’ve always been.

“You’ve been a great crowd!” Liam says, as the cheering rises. “Good night!”

There’s a yell that goes up, inarticulate but clear, and then Louis’s raised his microphone to his mouth, and Zayn knows the glint in his eye, the one that means he’s doing something he shouldn’t, taking bait he shouldn’t. And he can see that glint, see it clearly, because somehow Louis’s facing his direction, and it almost feels like he’s looking at him as he says it.

“And just remember,” Louis says, loud and firm like only he has. “This isn’t the last you’ll hear of One Direction.”

Zayn chokes, and he finds, as the screams get deafening, that there are tears in his eyes. He hopes it’s true. He doesn’t know if Louis remembered what he’d said, all those years ago, but the words were true once and he hopes its true again, even if it’s just in the context of ‘former member of One Direction goes on to great success.’

The boys are gone disappeared, but it’s going to take forever for the place to empty out and Zayn doesn’t dare get caught in the crowds. He checks his phone, but apart from a few checking in texts to make sure he’s not dead, there’s nothing. He’s about ready to check his email when there’s a tap on his shoulder, and Zayn freezes. Fuck. He’s going to die of rabid fangirls, right here.

“Sir,” comes the deep voice that’s the same in every venue around the world, the generic security guard voice. “Can you please come with me?”

“Um. Is there a problem?” Fuck. Was he reported for looking like a creep?

“I’ve been sent to ask you to come with me,” the man repeats. Zayn can’t make a scene, doesn’t dare, and the show’s over anyway—he’s pretty sure that worse comes to worst no arena manager is going to arrest him for showing up to a One Direction show.

“Sure.” He gets up, and as he does, the girl next to him looks over, and her eyes widen.

“Holy—” she starts, and he hurries away, but not before he can hear her turn to her friend. “That was Zayn! I could swear it was.”

“No way! You’re hallucinating, you just want it to be true.”

“Nu-uh—”

He keeps his head down as he follows security. He’s so busy concentrating on not being conspicuous that he barely notices where they’re going, until he does—until a door opens and closes, and then, well, he knows the furor of backstage after a show.

“They said to just go—”

“Zayn!” The hug almost takes Zayn out, makes him stumble sideways, but Harry doesn’t let go. He’s vibrating with the remnants of the stage, and his grip is too tight around Zayn’s side. “Fuck, Zayn, what are you doing here?”

“I—” He doesn’t know what to say, hadn’t even really meant to come back here after. Hadn’t really thought he’d needed to explain it.

“Niall!” Harry cuts him off to yell. “One second, explain to all of us. I can’t…” he moves a little so he can hug Zayn properly, tuck his nose into Zayn’s neck like he always had. “Nice of you to come,” he mutters, and Zayn has to laugh. It’s so Harry.

“What? Did you attack another crew mem—” Niall starts, then cuts himself off. Zayn knows the voice, the attempt to be hearty. So clearly he hadn’t seen him, then. “Haz?” he asks, and his voice only shakes a little.

“Zayn came!” Harry announces. He gives Zayn’s arse a cheeky grope, which has Zayn laughing, then lets him go. Niall’s eyes are wide as he stares at him, and Zayn knows this whole last show thing probably isn’t easy for him, for all he was smiling on stage.

“Hey.” He holds up a hand. Niall just stares for a moment longer, and for a second Zayn thinks he’s just going to walk away—Niall doesn’t get angry often, but Zayn knows how it can last when it does, and he knows Niall would never really get what he had to do—but then he snorts.

“Hey,” Niall scoffs, and pulls Zayn into a hug too. He holds him as long as Niall holds on, which is longer than usual, but Zayn gets it.

“We need to go find Louis and Liam,” Niall announces, when he steps back. He’s smiling, not quite his usual grin but it’s bright and clear. “All five of us, yeah? Didn’t think it would happen!”

“So, were you watching?” Harry asks, as Niall leads them down a hall. “What was it like in the stands? Where were you?”

“Close enough to get wet from you,” Zayn retorts, and Harry chuckles. He’s a little manic, Zayn thinks, not that he blames him.

They round a corner, and it’s clear where everyone’s giving Louis and Liam a wide berth, staying away from the water they’re still flicking at each other. Manic, indeed, Zayn thinks more fondly than he would have nine months ago.

They’re a little too busy giggling at each other to notice the other three come up, which Zayn is a little vindictively pleased about. Louis dumps another bottle of water over Liam’s head, then backpedals; Liam shakes his head and goes to start forward, but his feet slip on the wet ground, makes him stumble. He’s fairly certain Harry shoves at him, but somehow it ends up that Zayn’s hands are on Liam’s hips, as he steadies him.

“Easy, babe,” he’s saying before he thinks, and he feels Liam freeze, under his hands.

“Well,” Louis says, a bite to his voice. “Look who’s come to visit.”

Liam turns, and then he’s grinning, his eyes crinkled at the corners. “What are you doing here?” he asks, and then there’s another hug, another piece fitting into place. Zayn knows it’s never going to be like it was, and it shouldn’t be, and he’s so happy with where he is, but these hugs…feel better. Feel like a circle closing, or some shit like that.

“Wanted to watch a show,” Zayn whispers, into Liam’s neck, like old times.

“So you were just out there?” Liam demands, letting go. “Did you have security?”

“I was fine.” Zayn shrugs. He lets his hand stay wrapped around Liam’s neck for a second. “’m, like. You okay?”

He’s not surprised that Liam doesn’t need to ask what he’s talking about. He makes a face that Zayn knows means no, but now’s not the time. He can feel a gaze boring into his back, and the fact is, the other three boys had been surprised he was there.

Louis’s gaze is narrowed, his jaw set dangerously, in a way it only got when he was at his most snippy. “Want to tell me what you’re doing here?”

“Want to tell me what I’m doing back here?” Zayn retorts. It’s nice to see Louis, it is, but fuck if he’s apologizing like he knows Louis’d like him to.

“Lou—” Liam starts, looking a bit worried, but Louis waves a hand, like he’s dismissing him.

“I thought I saw you, during Infinity.” His chin juts. “Enjoy the show?”

“It was a good show,” Zayn tells him. “Louis.”

“Even though it’s not your type of music?” Louis demands. “Thought it wasn’t real.”

“Louis,” Zayn repeats. He’s sick of this, of not having his best friend. But he’s not going to be the first to cave. “Are you really going to do this?”

“Do what?” Louis snaps, and Zayn just keeps looking at him, evenly as he can. Louis’s anger doesn’t intimidate him, and he knows Louis’s always hated that.

“Be an asshole,” Zayn retorts, and he can hear Harry make a protesting noise, but he ignores that too.

“Fuck off.” Louis’s still glaring, but he takes a step forward. “You’re the asshole. You fucking prick,” he bites out, and swings at Zayn’s arm once before he’s wrapping his arms around Zayn’s shoulders, and Zayn can actually feel him go looser. And there it is, it feels like, the final piece, old and new, all the parts of Zayn coming together, finding a place in him. In them.

“I haven’t forgiven you,” Louis tells him, quiet. “I’m still mad.”

“Never would have guessed,” Zayn replies. Louis’s shaking a little, and he’s on edge too, Zayn’d almost forgotten. “I’m mad at you too.”

He can hear Louis’s breath. “I’ve missed you.” It’s quiet, no louder than that breath, like it was hard for Louis to admit, but it loosens something in Zayn too. That assurance. That it might be seamless, but he has a place here, with his boys. A changed one, but it’s there.

“Stop hogging the hugs,” Liam complains, loudly, then there are more arms around them, and wiggling and a few elbows and then they’re in a circle, and somehow it’s the same and so different from that first hug on the X Factor stage.

“Why are you here, though?” Harry asks, into the center of the hug. “Actually?”

It’s hard to shrug with Liam’s hand on one shoulder and Louis’s on the other, but he manages it. “Wanted to be here, like. Felt right. Wanted to be with you guys.”

“He means he loves us really, even though he left,” Louis adds, then, “And you don’t need to elbow me, Liam. It’s true.”

“Whatever. I’m glad you’re here.”

“It’s symbolic,” Harry adds. “Like a circle, you know?”

“Shut up, Harry.”

“No, it works! We couldn’t end it for now without him, had to close the chapter—”

“You don’t have to write another album, stop with the fucking metaphors.”

“Niall, I’m just matching the moment—”

“You’re going to smash it, you know.” Zayn cuts off their bickering. He needs to say this, somehow. Maybe this is why he’s here, to say this. To stand in this circle with his boys, with all of them, at the end of something great, even if he probably shouldn’t be here really. Even if he doesn’t belong anymore. “You’ll be okay. Better than, like. Great.”

A hand squeezes on Zayn’s waist, and he’s not even sure whose it is, in this pile of men, no longer the boys they were. “We’ll be great,” Liam corrects, and there’s a wet laugh from someone, probably Louis, though they all know they’d never admit it.

And for a second, it feels like the X Factor stage again, teetering on the brink of something bigger than they’d ever imagined; like that first moment at Harry’s step-dad’s bungalow, when they’d realized maybe it could happen; like a hundred stadiums on top of the world; like late nights in the bus curled up with each other as the last bit of home; even like signing his own record deal, ready to face the world on his own. It feels like growing up and growing together, and it feels like the roots beneath all of that, the ones that don’t falter.

“Yeah,” Zayn agrees, and pulls them in closer. “We will.”


	2. Chapter 2

_**Prompt: "We're stuck on this deserted island and we need a plan"** _

“Yes, thank you Liam, that is the problem,” Louis snaps. Liam’s said it at least three times, and it still hasn’t helped. They don’t have a plan. They can’t have a plan, because they are actually stranded on a deserted island with no cell service after their plane crashed and Niall’s about ten seconds away from a full on panic attack and Harry’s trying to distract but probably only worrying him more and also they’re on a fucking deserted island, and not properly on land where they’re supposed to be, playing a concert. Or Louis thinks so. He doesn’t know what time it is; they all turned their phones off when they realized they didn’t have service. Preserve their battery, Harry’d said, like he knew what he was talking about. 

“They’ll look for us,” Liam tells the air. He’s trying to be encouraging, but Louis really wishes he’d shut up, so he can think. He needs—god, he needs Zayn here, even though he’d be freaking the fuck out too. He wants someone who’ll just shut up. “Everyone’ll be looking for us.”

“What if they don’t?” Harry asks. Maybe he isn’t being distracting, then; maybe he’s just scared too. Louis sighs, and sits down on the sand between him and Niall, so he can properly wrap an arm around both of them, like he would his sisters. “What if they write us off for lost.” 

“Not going to happen,” Louis tells him, firmly and cheerfully as he can. He believes it. Mostly.

“But—our parents won’t know to look for us, and we’re replaceable to management, and—”

“Zayn won’t let us.” It’s the first thing Louis thinks of, but as he says it, it solidifies in his mind. That one solid point in his mind, far away but not gone. “He’s there, he’ll hear about this, he’ll look. Like, Howard Stark and Captain America, yeah?” Liam snorts at that one. “You know he won’t let us disappear.” 

“Howard Stark died, Louis,” Liam points out, and Louis glares. 

“He won’t let us,” he repeats, and draws his boys in closer to wait.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Prompt: One Direction presents an award and Zayn is nominated in that category and wins it and goes to collect his award from them** _

“Now of course we have no opinions on who should win this,” Liam says into the mic, after the nominees are announced. 

“None at all,” Niall agrees, shaking his head without holding back his smile.

Louis pushes Liam over. “We’re probably presenting because we’re so neutral.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry drawls, leaning over Louis. The crowd’s eating it up, the cameras even more so, of course. “I want Hilda to win.” 

“Shut up, Styles,” Louis retorts, and the whole crowd laughs. The cameras pan around, and Harry glances at them, and there’s Zayn, grinning widely, the one where his nose wrinkles and he looks like he glows. Harry grins back; he’s never been able not to when Zayn smiles like that. When Zayn looks like that, really, because even if it’s not the first time Harry saw him today—no one was passing up the opportunity of getting pictures of the five of them on the red carpet—but the camera’s always loved him almost as much as Harry has.

“Anyway,” Liam goes on, fixing all of them with a hard look. Harry gives his most innocent smile back. They all know how their ‘four lads being lads’ act works. “Now to announce the winner…” 

He holds up the envelope, and Harry holds up his crossed fingers, shakes them towards the crowd. Liam fumbles the envelope, of course, and Louis lets out a huff and grabs it, and Niall’s the one who actually ends up opening it, reading the name. 

“Holy fuck he did it,” comes out first, and the crowd’s roaring as Harry snatches the card away, 

“And the winner is Zayn Malik!” Harry announces, and he knows how much he’s beaming, as Liam lets out a whoop next to him. 

The applause is deafening, and they manage to wait until Zayn gets to the stage before Harry pounces, the other three boys not even a beat behind. For a second, Harry flashes back, to a dozen other group hugs in award shows, and this is different but not worse, how they engulf Zayn and start jumping, no thought for propriety. Who the fuck cares about propriety, Zayn just won! Harry buries his face in Zayn’s neck, hugs him tight, and he still smells the same and feels the same and holds on just as tight, his laughter breathy and overwhelmed. 

They let him go eventually, and Harry goes to step back, but Zayn keeps a hand on his waist, gives the other boys looks that they all recognize, and they stop as they rearrange so Zayn stands in front of the microphone, the center of a semi-circle with the other boys one step behind him. 

“Wow, um, this is so amazing,” he says, glancing down at his award. Harry can see them all grinning on the screens, can see how Zayn’s standing tall and on his own despite all them around him, and he’s so fucking proud. “Like, a year ago I never thought I could ever be here again, let alone getting this, so, yeah. Thanks to my family, ‘course, and all the people who made the album, and—” His hand tightens on Harry, and he chokes for a second. It’s instinct for Harry to pat at Zayn’s hip, like he can see Liam nodding encouragingly, “And thanks to my boys, because without them I’d never have gotten this far, and their continued support means so much to me. I love you guys, and it’s an honor to be on a stage with you again. So thank you all!” 

Harry knows he’s tearing up, and he thinks this time it’s Louis who closes the circle into a hug again, but it feels more like it’s the five of them moving as one again, because it doesn’t matter how long Zayn’s been gone for he still slides back in. 

“So proud of you,” he murmurs in Zayn’s ear, and they’re all laughing and crying as they’re getting played off. And it doesn’t matter that they’re separated after, that Zayn’s herded off to a different lounge and Harry will have to text him to find out what afterparty he’s going to, or maybe they’ll just all crash his house in the next few days to celebrate. He’s so proud of his boy. 


	4. Chapter 4

_**Prompt: Superhero AU ([Part 2](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7543255/chapters/17170042))**_

“The Directions?” Louis throws the newspaper on the big table in the center of their tower—not a lair, because they aren’t evil so they can’t call it a lair no matter how cool it sounds, Zayn is stubborn on this point—and scowls at it. “Why do they insist on calling us that? There are five of us! What’s the fifth direction?”

“Up?” Zayn suggests, “Could be Niall.”

Niall grins down at him from his loft—the aerie, Zayn had wanted to call at it, before Liam had said it was unpronounceable and none of the rest of them had known what it was. Zayn still likes to call it that in his head. It’s a nest only reachable by someone who can fly. He thinks it fits.

“Maybe it’s, like, not north and south or whatever,” Harry adds. “It could be, left, right, forward, backwards.”

“That’s still only four, and that’s daft,” Louis shoots back. Harry scowls at him, and blows a kiss that ends up blowing the newspaper back into Louis’s face. Louis glares back at him, and the pages start to crisp, and Zayn winces. He feels all his boys’ emotions more than everyone else’s, but Louis’s anger always hurts, like his fire even reaches his emotions.

“Stop,” Liam says, solidly, dropping a hand onto the back of Louis’s neck. “You’re hurting Zayn.”

Louis takes a deep breath, and the newspaper stops crinkling. “Sorry, Zee,” he says, and thinks _sorry sorry sorry sorry_ to the tune of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star until Zayn laughs and sticks his tongue out.

“I think the last direction is in, and it’s Zayn,” Harry contributes, and thinks warmth at Zayn. Zayn grins at him, too. Harry’s the best at figuring out how to project emotions, especially positive ones. 

“That doesn’t even make sense, though,” Louis counters, then yelps when Liam shakes him. “Hey! No crushing.”

“I’m not,” Liam retorts, even as he lets go of Louis and steps back. He’s worried, though—always so worried he’s going to break one of them on accident—so Zayn reaches out a hand to pull him down onto the couch next to him. He couldn’t actually pull him, obviously, but Liam goes willingly enough, and Zayn lets bits of comfort and reassurance drift over to him. Liam doesn’t consciously feel it, probably—he’s the worst at picking up when Zayn’s projecting, for all he’s probably the best at seeing when he’s actually feeling his own emotions—but it’ll be good all the same.

He gets a flash of easy calm and the bubbly happiness that always comes with Niall before he feels him settle down next to Zayn’s other side, then Harry, who can never resist a cuddle pile, comes over to sit half in Niall’s lap and half in Zayn’s. Louis hovers by the table, but Zayn thinks a dare and an invitation at him and he sidles over like a cat, before draping himself over Liam’s lap.

It’s too hot, because Louis runs hot, and Niall and Harry keep floating around a bit and Liam’s heavier than he should be, but Zayn can close his eyes and feel all his boys around him, feel the love and affection and steady core of them that grounds him when he thinks he’s going to get lost in all the people he can feel, and there’s no where he’d rather be.

“We do need a name, though,” Louis says, idly.

 “What about—”

“We are not the Fab Five, Harry,” Liam interrupts him, and Harry pouts.

Zayn just buries his face in Liam’s shoulder and lets the argument wash over him, basking in the warmth.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Prompt: Hearing the door begin to open, Zayn wiped hastily at his face, trying in vein to make it less obvious that he had been crying.** _

It’s Liam on the other side of the door, but Niall’s head is poking out from under his arm, and Harry’s craning over his shoulder, and he can hear Louis pushing at them from behind him. 

“You okay?” Harry asks, like he always does. It’s that always that gets him, the habit of it, the fact that he asks that every day and the other boys ask it too, in their own ways. But Zayn nods. He’s not. But still….

Louis scoffs, and shoves through the other boys to throw himself onto the bed, then tug Zayn into a hug. “Don’t be stupid,” he warns him, and suddenly they’re all there, all of them on the bed with him in the center of a cuddle pile, and for the first time in hours Zayn thinks he might end up okay.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Prompt: Zayn's body fluids can heal everything.** _

They find out, of course, when he accidentally trips Harry worse than he expected to and Harry falls and bruises himself. Zayn feels really bad, because hurting Harry’s a bit like hurting a puppy, so before Harry knows it Zayn’s raising his arm up and pressing his lips to it, and suddenly the bruise is gone. “Did you just actually kiss it better?” he asks, and Zayn shrugs. “You can’t tell anyone.” 

Of course, he tells everyone. Where by everyone, it means Louis, and then they can’t keep it secret form the other two, so pretty soon all of them know Zayn can heal them by spitting on them. It’s not that simple, he tells them, especially after Niall gets mad at him for not helping him fix his knee–it’s got to be linked to his emotions, and it’s not a science. For a little thing a bit of blood’s okay, or a kiss, but for big things–he needs to really feel it, and for a preexisting condition it’s even worse. That’s why tears are the strongest, he explains, because they’re directly linked to his emotions. Equal exchange, he tells them–pain for pain. 

“So if you came on someone, what would that do?” Louis asks, and is shushed by a blushing Liam. (this continues to be something he brings up when high). 

Mainly it’s not a thing, except that it means they have less scrapes and bruises than they should, and they all get into the habit of kissing Zayn a lot because it’s the least weird way to get his emotions up and swap enough saliva to feel better, although when Liam’s kidney grows back they’re all very suspicious, no mater how much Zayn swears he didn’t do anything. 

They don’t realize how much it mattered, until he’s gone. Until Harry hurt his foot and instead of Zayn pricking his finger open for him, it’s just broken. Until Liam’s sick and where usually at least a quick snog with Zayn would get him on stage, there’s nothing. It’s not the worst thing about Zayn being gone, not even close–but every bruise is a literal reminder of what they lost, because apparently it wasn’t an equal exchange. 


	7. Chapter 7

_**Prompt: “Art exists because life is not enough.”** _

Louis blinks. “Bullshit. Have you been reading more of Harry’s philosopher-shit again?” 

“It’s not shit!” Harry protests from the floor, where he’s either doing yoga  or trying to see if he can actually suck his own dick, Zayn’s not sure. 

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Nah, like. You ever feel like—I dunno, life isn’t as much as it could be? Like, it’s not, or it’s…small, sometimes?” 

“Small?” Niall snorts, gesturing around them, where, okay, yes, they’re in the green room of a stadium and are about to play a concert for hundreds of people and Zayn could never have expected this. “Our lives?” 

“You haven’t been smoking before a concert, have you Zayn?” Liam asks, leaning forward, concerned. “Is your voice going to be—”

“It’ll be fine,” Zayn snaps. “I’m not high. Can’t I just be thoughtful, for once?” 

“No, that’s supposed to be Harry,” Louis inserts. “Come on, I found a youtube video I want to show you.” 

Zayn makes a face at him, but he scoots closer on the couch, and Niall gets up to lean over the back of the couch so he can see it too. Maybe life isn’t small. But Zayn glances around him. Maybe it’s too big.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Prompt: "Zaynie pay attention to us!"** _

“I will, I just want to finish this chapter,” Zayn murmurs over his book. He turns another page, and gets one more paragraph in before there’s a Louis in his lap, and a Harry halfway there. 

“Is the book more important than us?” Louis asks, his eyes glinting with that sort of dangerous edge that he gets when he’s not really joking. 

“Do you love it more than us?” Harry adds, nuzzling into Zayn’s neck. He sounds sad, or maybe more forlorn, and it always hurts Zayn’s heart when he sounds little-boy-lost like that. 

“Come on, stop guilting him,” Liam chides. Zayn glances over Louis’s shoulder to smile his thanks, but Liam’s not smiling. He’s got puppy dog eyes on too. “Just because he’s been away for a month and still would rather read than talk to us…” 

“I didn’t–I just–you guys were busy!” Zayn protests, “I didn’t mean to–”

It’s Niall who rolls his eyes, and shoves at Louis until he can lean into Zayn’s other side. “Then pay attention to us, idiot.” 

“If you insist,” Zayn sighs, mock put upon, and Harry bites at his ear in protest. It’s good to be back.


	9. Chapter 9

_**I was watching the interview with Liam about Zayn “distancing” himself and I was thinking about how we’ve only ever heard that from Liam and the other boys, not from Zayn, and that there’s always two sides to a story** _

Liam answers the phone without looking at the caller ID. That’s probably stupid, he knows, but he’s on the way to meet Sophia and he doesn’t have time and he doesn’t think this number’s leaked. It can’t be anything important, not this early, anyway.

“Hello, Liam Payne,” he answers, pulling on his shirt.

There’s no answer for a second, just breathing, but Liam freezes anyway. He knows that breath, and he doesn’t care to think about what that means, but he knows, without checking, who is on the other line.

“Zayn?” It makes sense he’d call, Liam guesses, with the album and shit. It’s not like they haven’t talked since March, they’ve chatted a few times. Of course he’d call to congratulate them, Zayn’s sentimental like that, it makes sense.

“It’s not true, you know.” Liam’s breath catches a little, at his voice. It’s just—it’s good to hear him. And somewhere, in the parts of him he doesn’t like to admit, the parts that understand how Louis rages, he likes that no matter how pensive Zayn is trying to sound, he sounds hurt. Because Liam knows what Zayn’s hurt sounds like, better than anyone else, even over the phone.

 

“What isn’t?” Liam asks. He could have known, once, could have read Zayn’s mind basically, but not now, apparently. Not from across two continents and however many hours time difference and however much emotional distance goes with that.

Zayn sighs over the phone. Liam can’t help doing the math, figuring out how late he’s up, if he should tell him to go to sleep before he remembers he’s not needed for that anymore.

“I’m not, like, distancing myself, or whatever you said. I guess it could feel like that, but, like, Liam, I’ve been here whenever you wanted me.”

Liam falls back onto the bed. It looks like he’s going to be late. “What, in the interview? That’s just shit I say Zayn, you know, I can’t—” Can’t say what it really feels like, like you decided we weren’t enough. That you moved across the world to avoid us. That I don’t even know why you left. That I don’t know how to talk to you anymore because you don’t fit in my categories anymore.

“Yeah, I do know, and I know you, Liam. I know all of you. And, I mean.” He lets out another breath, and Liam knows without wanting to that it means Zayn scrubbing his face with his hands, like he used to do talking to Ant, curled up on the bunk in the bus, before coming out and plopping onto the couch with his feet in Louis’s lap and his head against Liam’s shoulder. “I know we’re not, like, what we were, or whatever, but that’s just—I never said that because I don’t want to be co-dependent anymore I didn’t want to be friends. That was you all.”

“We never—”

“I’m not the one who decided to start shit on twitter,” Zayn goes on, firm like he always got when pushed too far, unyielding. “I’m still, like, I’m not disavowing you guys or anything. Not like you are.”

Liam doesn’t bother saying that it wasn’t him starting shit, because he knows that’s not the point. Because he knows how the band works, and it’s all for one and one for all, what one does falls on the others too, so he might not have done it but he as good as, sort of. And anyway, that’s not the point.

“You left, Zayn.” That’s the heart of it.

“Yeah, I left the band. I—”

“You left and moved to LA and made new friends and got a new deal,” Liam keeps going, all of the things he can’t say on air bubbling up in him. “You’re the one who left us behind, without even a real explanation, and yeah, you distanced—”

“I quit my job. I quit my job and I moved. None of that means—like, fuck, Liam. Am I supposed to be blowing up your phone reporting my every move? I didn’t do that even before I left.”

“You didn’t have to! You were here.”

“Exactly!” Zayn’s voice snaps out, suddenly enough that it makes Liam jump. Zayn’s anger’s always a bit much for him, shown rarely enough that it’s shocking. “I’m not there! That doesn’t mean I don’t love you!”

Liam’s breath is harsh. “Feels like it.”

He can almost hear the anger fade from Zayn, into something tight and cold. “I get that I hurt you all, yeah? But like. Don’t put this all on me. I’m not the one who didn’t even congratulate you on your success. I didn’t decide not being there all the time meant we couldn’t have any contact at all. I didn’t distance myself, Liam.” The words bite out, into Liam. “That was you all.”

“Zayn—”

“If you ever feel like I exist again, I’ll answer the phone, for any of you. Hope your album release goes well.” Liam expects the phone to slam then, but instead, rushed and a bit too harsh, like he’s proving a point. “Love you. Love you all.”

The line goes dead, and Liam stares at the phone. He hadn’t—he hadn’t meant it like that, he thinks. He’s not sure. He doesn’t know anymore, never knows, and yet somehow he’s the one who has to say all of it, while Louis makes faces and Harry and Niall just sit there. Like it’s not hurting all of them. He wonders—wonders if any of them have said anything to Zayn, since March. If any of them did text him about RCA. Harry might have, he thinks; he’s been a bit less wrapped up in the anger and the hurt. Liam had meant to, but he—he hadn’t been able to figure out what to say, and then it had gotten late enough it would have been weird.

Slowly, he gets to his feet. He needs to meet Sophia. She’ll know what to do, maybe. Know if he should even tell the boys about this, or if it will just hurt them more. If knowing that Zayn still loves them will make it better or worse. If knowing that he’ll pick up will make calling easier or harder.

He doesn’t know. It feels like his constant state since March. He just doesn’t know.  

**Author's Note:**

> Liked these? Want to discuss or see more as they're posted? Comment or come chat on [ tumblr](http://zaynandhisboys.tumblr.com/) or go to the full archive at [ my drabble blog](http://stormdirection.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
